Tugging war
by Megaphone.Kills.You
Summary: From the outside it looks like a harmless conflict of opinion, but much deeper under the surface reality rears its ugly head and both of them understand that only one of them can prevail.


There was something about them.

Whenever all ten of them got together, at one time or another someone would mention it, like some deeply rooted ritual that nobody could go without. And in return they'd glance at each other, blue meeting dull gray, and they'd just smirk as if it were some shared joke between them.

There was something about Deidara and Sasori that, try as they may, could never be named.

Sasori was endlessly serious, a dark ocean of quietness.  
Everything was locked away beneath layers of insults and behind walls of silence and not even he himself could be sure of how deep you'd have to get to find his heart.

He might never admit it, but from the moment their eyes had met, Deidara had been attracted to him, in an inexplicable way.  
"Oi, you there. My name's Deidara. By the way, that picture of yours is boring" he'd said to the redhead and pointed at the pencil sketch Sasori was working on. "Brats like you should think first before opening their mouths. Like you can even recognize true art. My name is Sasori" he retorted without skipping a beat and without the slightest hint of any sort of emotion.

They clashed at best. Deidara burst with energy and life, stirring up Sasori's ocean, the rippling waves causing tsunamis in his mind. And where their personalities collided in the worst of ways, their opinions on art did too.

Eternal, fleeting, eternal, fleeting, it was like an endless tugging war between them.

For Sasori, objects of art were something created for eternity. Everything had to be preserved, and kept alive for forever and Deidara never asked for the reason behind his friend's obsession. The blonde is someone who needs never ending change, someone for whom everything has to be fast and fleeting.

On summer afternoons, Deidara would be blowing bubbles glistering in all colors and Sasori would be taking a photo of it to capture the moment before it was gone.

That's just how they were and before long, like magnets their differences pulled them together.

It was crazy. They were crazy. That was no secret.

The extent of Sasori's insanity was measurable, nothing that would kill him. His desire for preserving things and his longing for emptiness were known. When he first admitted to himself he was in love with Deidara, he tried his hardest to erase every last bit of emotion he possessed. But he failed and everybody knew he'd get over it.  
Those were just things that defined the redhead.

But just how crazy was Deidara? Nobody knew how deep Deidara had descended into madness.

Their seemingly eternal tugging war came to an abrupt end.

How sad, Deidara can't help thinking. They never could settle their differences.

This was more than what met the eye, so much more. This wasn't simply opinion against opinion.

When thinking about it, the blonde came to the conclusion that the only thing they really had in common was that both of them hated being in love.

(Love is a feeling to stay for a long time, such a long, boring time. Yet love could also find an early end and leave pain in its wake. )

Sasori had said that if he had to kill someone, he'd use poison. A nerve poison, a creeping, slow death to drag it out. Deidara on the other hand could never work up the patience for a 'boring' murder like that, he needed something much more flashy and quicker. A bomb.

Sometimes when the blond artist closes his eyes he can picture the expression of his boyfriend while he died.  
It really did take long, just as planned. Deidara stroke through the redhead's impossibly soft hair, lay the man's head on his lap and watched as the life left those dull gray orbs. Argh, the wait was excruciating but for the first time in his life, he felt he found some appreciation for it.  
While the poison killed Sasori from the inside, the artist did not ask "Why". It proofed that they were on the same wave-length, as always. Actually this lack of questions between them even in a moment like this made him smile throughout this tedious procedure.

Once Deidara could no longer feel a pulse, he was convinced there'd be happiness. This death showed that his art had prevailed.  
And he was sure that there'd be no more love. Once his lover was deceased, so was the love.

Such wasn't the case. Love is such an annoyingly persistent emotion!

Even though everything had gone according to plan, the blonde found no salvation, no relief in the deed. He couldn't shake this feeling, couldn't poison it like he had hoped.

His stay in the asylum was dreary and long.

Much, much to long.  
Deidara feels like his sanity is slipping away from him due to being locked up in a place like this.

His youth will have an end. And he'd still be there. His life will have an end and it is years and years and decades away, much too far out of reach. Now that he has lived to see his twenty-fifth birthday, he realizes that it was two years ago his suicide had been scheduled.  
Ha. Two years since he passed his 'expiration date', so to speak. His life should've never lasted those long twenty-five years! Yet around this happy place, people make much too sure he continues to exist.

The murder he committed cursed him to remain on earth for a long, long, indefinite period of time, something he had never wished for. Then again, Sasori had never wished for an early end.

So was this Sasori's revenge?

* * *

**I think I could justify this One-Shot's existence at some point in the past. Past me is a rather shady character though. You never know with her. This is an older piece of mine, not thaaat old, but...you know. I decided to upload it as some sort of excuse for my lack of updates for my multi-chapter stories. Pleasedon'tkillme.**

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